


The Five Times Some Form Of Bucky Watches Steve Die, And The One Time He Doesn't

by nightmaresinwintah



Category: Marvel
Genre: (not that it's /his/ fault), 5+1 Things, AU, Blood, I may add more, I think that's about it, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Reincarnation, The Asset - Freeform, The Winter Soldier - Freeform, Violence, but he lives once, i follow the winter solider timeline but not obsessively, memory problems, mentions of torture but it's not too graphic, preserum steve, steve dies 5 times okay, steve never becomes cap, there's a happy ending i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 03:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7785166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightmaresinwintah/pseuds/nightmaresinwintah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There are stories of people being reincarnated to meet each other on this Earth over and over again. The stories are spun with adoration and romance, immortal love and happy endings. There is heartbreak, second chances and the wonder of learning to love each other all over again. Sometimes they know each other when they meet - hazy dreams of past lives colour their nights - or sometimes they just know that the other is important. They always, always find each other.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Each story is an inspiration - the gift of a second life, the same love. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>A gift is not always cherished. Sometimes, it is a curse, because being born again means you have to die again. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>This is the story of their gift.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are mine. Please heed that Steve does die in a way that is either graphically or half-assedly described in the first five chapters. Also enjoy! Sort of. idk?

**1.**

They’ve had him for days, weeks, months, years. He doesn’t know. Somehow, they haven’t broken him, despite how broken he feels. He hasn’t given up. He hasn’t answered anything they want to know, he doesn’t think he’s given them anything to use against him. 

He should have known better. 

He’s still spinning from the drugs they’ve pumped into him when the door slams open. He doesn’t waste his energy by looking up to see who it is, simply stays stock-still, eyes closed. He hasn’t been allowed to move from the metal slab in...Weeks? Months? He genuinely has no idea. He tries not to dwell on it, and instead listens intently to the people in the room. 

No one is talking, which is unusual. They usually come in and start mocking him, taunting him, telling him what they’re going to do to him. Now, though, not a single word is said. They come close - he can hear their footsteps - and a hand is brought down on his face. His eyes snap open and he tries to focus, but his vision is blurry. 

“Wake up, we have a present for you.”

He frowns up at the fuzzy human shape, and then his straps are being undone and he’s being hauled to his feet. He stumbles, falling straight to the ground. Someone sneers something in Russian, and a boot collides with his side. He barely registers it - it’s nothing compared to what’s already been done to him. 

He’s told to get up - but that’s impossible. He  _ tries -  _ there’s no point in aggravating them - but his legs simply won’t work. Plus, he’s still not used to the missing weight of his left arm. When it becomes clear that he can’t walk, they haul him up and drag him down out of the room. He tries to look around, see where he is and where he’s going, but he’s smacked on the back of his head and told to look down. He obeys, because they’ll just blindfold him if he doesn’t, and there’ll be more punishment later. 

He’s dragged to a room he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen before, and thrown into a chair and strapped in. He’s not sure why they insist on keeping him locked up - he physically can’t get anywhere or do anything to harm them. There’s no way he can escape. He thinks they’ve implanted a tracker into him, as well. 

“Open your eyes.”

He hadn’t even known they were closed. He forces them open and takes a moment to let his vision clear. 

Steve is sitting across from him, strapped into his own chair. 

What? That’s impossible - Steve’s safe at home in Brooklyn, getting into fights and helping take care of Bucky’s family while Bucky’s gone. He must have gotten the news by now - did the telegram say MIA or KIA? There’s no way that  _ that’s  _ Steve, sitting across from him.

But...it is. He would look exactly like he did when Bucky left him, if not for the countless bruises and cuts and scrapes covering his face and bare chest. He looks skinnier than before, if that’s possible. He’s blindfolded, and breathing hard. He’s probably terrified. No, he’s definitely terrified. How the hell did he get here? Why was he here? 

It sinks in, then, just how dire the situation is. Bucky has an idea of why Steve’s here, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Before he has time to think his way out of this, or say anything, two masked men are coming into the room, followed by Zola himself. 

“So, you have met our newest guest?” the man says, a pleased smile on his face.

Bucky can only stare at Steve. He can’t remember what he’s said to give Hydra the idea that Steve even exists. He doesn’t know what to do. He watches as Steve whips his head around to look in the general direction of Zola. Steve bares his teeth, and Bucky winces, terror pooling in his gut. 

“Oh, I’m sure you two are already well acquainted. Steve Rogers has been with us only a few days, but I’ve heard from a very reliable source that you already know each other,” Zola continues.

Bucky hasn’t made a sound - he can’t. He’s so shocked that he doesn’t think he could even scream. Zola gestures at one of the masked men, and he steps forwards, reaching for Steve. Bucky twitches, and Zola’s eyes cut to him, fascination shining there. Bucky goes still immediately. 

The masked man removes Steve’s blindfold. 

Bucky’s stomach is churning, but he’s got nothing to throw up. He watches Steve’s eyes dart around the room, watches him pull against his restraints. His eyes glide over Bucky at first, and then fall back on him. He frowns, like he doesn’t recognise Bucky at first, but then his eyes are going wide, and he’s pale and choking back a scream. 

Bucky stares back, feeling strangely hollow after the previous silent panic. 

“ _ Bucky?”  _ hisses out from between Steve’s gritted teeth. Steve’s eyes drag over the place where Bucky’s left arm should be.  

Bucky wants to close his eyes, but he can do nothing but stare. Zola looks like he’s about to burst from excitement. 

“Oh, god, Bucky, what’d they do to you? Bucky? Can you hear me?  _ What did you do to him, you monster?!”  _

Bucky wants to sink right into the Earth. He wants for Hydra to never have found Steve. He wants to never have been captured. Zola cackles, and walks forwards, reaching out and placing a hand on Steve’s jaw. Bucky tenses up, and pulls at his restraints. Zola’s looking at him immediately, one eyebrow raised. He makes a ‘hmmmm’ sound, and then drags his other hand through Steve’s hair. Steve’s cringing away as much as he can, eyes still locked on Bucky.

“D-Don’t -” Bucky tries to speak, but he breaks off and is sent into a round of hacking coughs. Each cough is like a kick to the ribs. 

“Don’t? Oh, so you do know each other. Well, then this is...quite the gift, isn’t it?” 

Bucky’s tugging weakly at the restraints, not fully aware that he’s doing it. He can see exactly what’s going to happen, and it  _ hurts.  _ It hurts so much more than anything they’ve done before. He aches for Steve, needs to hold him, to assure him he’s going to be okay. He thinks he’s crying. His cheeks are wet. 

“Listen to me, Sergeant,” Zola suddenly snaps. 

Bucky tries to focus on him, but his eyes keep slipping to Steve again. Zola continues anyway.

“We asked you to cooperate. We told you there would be consequences if you didn’t. I told you about the procedure - you’ve nearly completed phase one. This is your final test.”

Bucky can’t breathe. Steve’s writhing the chair, on the verge of an asthma attack, and he’s screaming Bucky’s name. “Steve -” Bucky starts, but a hand cracks across his face, sending his focus whirling. 

When he can see again, Steve’s got welts across his chest and tear tracks down his face. Bucky’s ears are ringing, and he tries to open his mouth to speak, but he’s gagged. 

Apparently Zola doesn’t have time to drag this out. Bucky can do nothing but watch in disbelief as Steve - his  _ Stevie -  _ fights against his restraints as the gun is pointed at him. Bucky’s screaming now, but he feels distant, like he he’s watching this from behind one-way glass. He doesn’t feel like he’s in his body, but hell, he knows he’s screaming his throat raw. He’s fighting against the restraints, tears streaming down his face. He’s bleeding with how hard he’s fighting against the straps and his jaw aches from screaming and biting down on the gag. 

In the end, he can’t look away.

One of the masked men takes the shot, because Zola is a gutless coward. 

Steve’s body - so full of energy and fight and  _ good -  _ slumps in the chair, lifeless.

Bucky gives up.  

*


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

The mission parameters are to make it slow. His handlers had been very adamant about this, even checked more than once that he knew every detail of the mission. They hadn’t given him the name of his mark, but that wasn’t unusual. He was the weapon for them to point and shoot, and a weapon didn’t need to know why it was being used. What was unusual was the fact that he wasn’t given his mask. 

He’s on the rooftops, settled on his front and watching the front door through his scope. The mark will be home any moment, and the Asset has decided that he will get in through the window that had been left unlocked, and simply take out the mark’s legs with two clean shots. As soon as the mark is on the floor, the Asset will make it hurt while the mark bleeds out. 

Movement on the streets - the mark is walking up to his front door. 

The Asset is down from the roof in ten seconds and is in through the window in another silent fifteen. The mark is standing with his back to the Asset, looking through his fridge. The Asset has no need for hesitation - two bullets fly through the back of the mark’s knees less than a second after the Asset enters the apartment. 

The Asset knows there is something wrong the moment the mark hits the floor with a scream of startled pain. 

He goes over the mission parameters in his mind, but there is nothing about this man’s identity. He’s not sure why he feels sick. The Asset shakes the uneasy feeling off, and then stalks forwards, coming to hover over the man. He expects screaming, or the usual questions, but he gets nothing but the man spitting at him. 

The Asset doesn’t look at the man’s face, simply draws back his boot and drives it into the mark’s side, sending him sprawling and flipping over onto his back. The second indication that something is wrong is the mark staring up at him with something other than fear.

The mark’s eyes - blue, but why is the Asset taking note of that? - shine with shock. It’s the kind of shock that comes with familiarity, like the mark recognises the Asset. The Asset snarls the moment the mark opens his mouth to say something, and stops him from speaking by slamming his boot into one of his injured knees. 

All that comes out of the mark’s mouth is a howl of pain.

The Asset isn’t going to make this slow - fear is pounding in his chest, confusion flowing through his veins. He points the gun at the mark for a kill shot, but for the first time, he hesitates. The man is groaning through gritted teeth, and is bleeding out rapidly. The mark looks back up at the Asset and breathes out in a rush, eyes wet and pleading. And he speaks. 

“Bucky?”

The Asset flinches. “Who the hell is Bucky?” he asks. 

Why does he know the name? He searches the dying man’s face for answers, but all he finds is choking desperation. “I know you,” the man accuses, “you know me.” The Asset takes a step back, shaking his head. The gun his shaking in his right hand. He swaps it to his left, but he still can’t take the shot. 

“No, I don’t,” the Asset insists, fear thrumming through his blood. 

The man reaches out to the Asset like he’s a lifeline, not the weapon that was sent to kill him. “Years ago - I died. I came back for you. I have - “ he chokes off with a cry of pain, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing out heavily. The Asset can do nothing but watch in horror. “I have dreams. Memories. Your name is Bucky Barnes, and I’m Steve Rogers. We loved each other, you’ve known me your entire life” the man finishes, emotion clouding his eyes. He’s desperate.

Anger wells in the Asset, clouding his confusion. “Shut  _ up,”  _ he commands before leaning down and pulling the man from the ground. The Asset draws back his fist, ignoring the screams tearing their way from from the man. He drives a fist into his face. “You’re my  _ mission,”  _ he spits.

“Bucky - “ the man’s nose is dripping with blood, and his head’s dropped to the side. He must be seeing two - the hit was hard. “I’m not going to fight you,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

The Asset wants to laugh in some strange way -  how could this man ever possibly fight the Winter Soldier? The words ignite nothing but animalistic panic that causes the Asset to smash his fist into the man’s face again. “You’re my mission -  _ you are my mission!”  _ he howls, but then drops the man - his mark - back to the ground and falls to his knees, a sob ripping itself from his chest. Steve Rogers. He  _ knows  _ that name. “How?” he pleads. 

“I don’t - I don’t know. Bucky, god, Bucky, please don’t go back to them - to Hydra. Run, Bucky.” The words are slurred and distorted. The man isn’t even pleading for his own life. 

The Asset’s head is screaming - his brain feels like it’s on fire. “ _ Steve.” _ The Asset has never known this pain. He has been through every form of torture imaginable, but this. He has never felt this. But - has he? It’s almost  _ familiar.  _

“I’ll be back, Bucky, I won’t give up. I’ll come back.” 

Blood is forming in a puddle around them, flowing steadily from Steve’s knees - the Asset must have hit an artery. The Asset shuffles forwards and his hands reach out, but he can’t bring himself to touch him. “I don’t  _ understand.” _

“I’m with you till the end of the line, Buck. I’ll be back.”

The Asset squeezes his eyes shut. He can hear his breathing - heavy and rasping, speeding up. The Asset can’t do this. He stands on shaky legs and steps back - back and back and back - until he’s standing at the window. He stares across the room at the man - his mark, his  _ Steve -  _ and sees nothing but the blood seeping from his body and into the Asset’s ledger. This is one stain he will  _ never  _ get out. This is the one stain that matters and he still doesn’t understand why. 

The life bleeds out of Steve while his eyes are locked with the Asset’s. With - with Bucky’s. Bucky turns and runs. 

They find him four days later, curled up in an abandoned warehouse, staring at the walls with a gun under his chin. His finger is twitching at the trigger, but conditioning is preventing him from pulling it. The tears have long since dried - he has nothing left. Nothing but hollowness. Everything has come back.  _ Everything.  _

They put him under with special sedatives from a safe distance, and he wakes up in the chair. They never find out he hears them talking about how it didn’t work, how when they found him he was mumbling incoherently about how he  _ knew him. _ They discuss different ways to handle Steve Roger’s next reincarnation, and what went wrong the last few times. 

The Asset is thrown straight back on ice the moment they’re finished wiping him. 

 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**  
He escapes while on a mission in America. He doesn’t know why he does it, or how, but he’s been free for five days. He’s been wandering, picking up food and street clothes along the way, finding gloves to hide his metal hand. He blends in. He doesn’t know why he’s doing any of this, but he knows that he needs to get far, far away. He needs to...find someone.

He’s wound up in Brooklyn. His head hurts to think about the name, but he’s made it here, like some invisible thread has been leading him the entire time. He’s been wandering the streets for a while, observing and calculating. Nothing stands out. Nothing catches his eye.

Everything is familiar.

He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t even know his own name, the one he had before he was named ‘the Asset’, or ‘the Winter Soldier’. He’s not even sure how he knows he had a name before those ones.

He finds himself in an alleyway, drawn to it by the sound of a fight. There’s a storm brewing above the city, rolling in through the sky and crackling through the air. It’s going to be a cold night, he knows. There are kids in the alleyway, four of them. Three of them are beating on the forth - a smaller kid, with hollow cheeks and thin arms.

Fierce protectiveness wells in the Asset like a fire he never knew he possessed, and he stalks forward like the predator he is. The moment the three kids see him, they scatter like they know just how dangerous he is. The Asset feels dimly pleased, but then he focuses on the kid on the ground.

He’s scared, the Asset realises. It turns the Asset’s stomach over, making him want to hurl. He doesn’t. Instead, he holds a hand out. The kid ignores it and hauls himself up, holds back a wince with gritted teeth.

“I had ‘em on the ropes, mister,” the kid says, and spits out a glob of blood.

The Asset has a strange urge to roll his eyes. The kid’s looking him over, and it makes the Asset’s skin crawl in the strangest way. He takes a step back, making to disappear, but then the kid’s reaching out and taking a hold of the Asset’s right wrist.

“Are you a vet, mister?” the kid asks, and then pales. “I-I mean -”

“I was in...the war,” the Asset mumbles, staring down at the kid. He doesn’t know how he knows this. Without meaning to, the Asset has hunched his shoulders in an effort to appear smaller.

The kid looks him over again, and he must be trained in reading people or something, jeez, because then he asks; “do you have somewhere to go?”

The Asset shakes his head, and frowns.

“You could come over for dinner at mine. Ma will let you stay. Pa was in the war - he died before I was born, though. I’m Steve.”

And so the Asset ends up sitting at the dinner table with Steve and his mother, eating his fair share of their dinner. Steve hadn’t lied - his mother had welcomed him with open arms after learning how him and her son had bumped into each other. Bucky felt strangely...warm, like he had finally found somewhere safe.

He’s invited to stay the night. He accepts, and takes the couch with stuttered thank yous.

The night brings nightmares. He wakes in a cold sweat, and is on his feet in a second. Coughing. Someone’s coughing. He can hear Steve’s mother making quiet shushing noises, but they sound desperate. Quietly, melding with the shadows, the Asset creeps down the hall and observes the scene in Steve’s bedroom.

The kid is laying in bed, looking weak and frail. Sickness has taken to him in the night. Somehow, the Asset expected this - like it is something that happens often. Before he can be seen, he backs away and returns to the couch to wait for the morning.

~

The morning, as always, brings nothing good.

Just as Steve’s mother has begun to tiredly prepare breakfast and the Asset is getting ready to leave, Hydra finds them. He tries to fight, he does, but he’s their Asset. They know how to subdue him. He’s just about to succumb to the sedatives when he sees Steve and his mother being executed.

It hurts far, far more than it should.

When he wakes up again, he doesn’t have time to mourn before he’s shoved in the chair and forced to forget. Maybe he thanks his handlers this time.

*


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

A headache has been bumping around in the Asset’s head during this entire mission, and it’s driving him mad. He hasn’t mentioned it, mostly because this is an  _ important  _ mission. The Little Spider’s first solo mission. He is here to observe, not to help or intervene. He shouldn’t, but he hopes she does well. He is  _ fond  _ of her, but none of their handlers know, because that would end in the termination of one of them. 

They are careful. They are too important to each other to lose - which is stupid, because they know the rules, they knows what happens when you  _ feel.  _ It’s just. Little Spider’s careful touch is the first human contact he’s had in  _ so  _ long that wasn’t painful. And she gave the Asset a  _ name.  _ His heart swells when he thinks of her. 

And now she is inside the building he is hidden outside of. She is on her first important solo mission. His heart clenches every now and then as the minutes tick by. He would have been in and out in under a minute - it’s a standard assassination - but she is young. She is still learning. This will take her longer than he is used to. But, still. Five minutes tops, and it’s been three and a half. 

She will succeed, he knows, because he trained her himself. 

Just as he is about to go in and search for her, she steps out of the building, not a hair out of place. If he could smile, he would be. She walks over to where she knows he is, shadows in an alcove, and leans against the wall like he’s not there. 

> _ Mission report. _

His Russian is perfect. He doesn’t remember how or where he learned it. Little Spider stares straight ahead, watching the streets, and then replies without letting her lips move. 

> _ Mark terminated, single bullet to the head. No evidence left, I was not seen. _

He feels pride well in him, but he must remain stoic. They are being watched. 

> _ Are you certain? _

He has to ask. She looks down the street, angling her head so she can narrow her eyes at him. She inclines her head once, and then sets of at a brisk pace. He stays hidden in the shadows, following her back to the extraction point. Little Spider is aware of him, well trained in able to watch for shadows that shouldn’t be there. 

But she still doesn’t notice as he slows down, distracted. Something has caught his eye - a blond head. The man is walking the opposite way down the footpath. Something in the Asset is being tugged in the same direction, and he finds himself slipping away to tail him. He’s not sure why, but something about the man is familiar. Important, like the Little Spider is. 

The man is displaced, almost, like he doesn’t belong in this time. He walks like he knows this place, though, but the Asset has seen him before. The hazy, displaced memories of this man are drenched in blood. The Asset shakes off the sensation of confusion, and settles on following the man. 

He takes a shortcut down an alley, and that’s where it happens. 

One moment the Asset is tailing the man with a pounding head and curiosity flooding him, and then the man is twitching on the ground, mouth wide open in a silent scream. The Asset darts forwards without thinking, and kneels on the ground beside the man, who is choking and spluttering, blood staining his lips like cranberry juice. 

The Asset feels sick when he sees the recognition swimming in the blue of his eyes. 

The man tries to say something - fuck his blood is all over the Asset,  _ this has happened before -  _ but a second shot rings out, and he goes still. The Asset watches his eyes cloud over. A strike team reveals themselves, eyes dark and clothes darker. 

He fights when they try take him away from the body - which had been so warm, so soft and so familiar - lashing out and killing one of the men instantly. The moment the team see he’s volatile, the call for backup is made, and they go about trying to subdue him. He’s not thinking straight - not seeing straight - and he can’t quite pinpoint where the men are coming from, but there are more. 

He gets taken down with a specialized tranquilizer. 

~

He wakes up in the chair, to an even worse headache. 

“This can’t keep happening,” is said from somewhere in the room.

His muscles are still waking up, but he tugs at the restraints holding him. He’s mad - he’s  _ furious -  _ but he just wants this over with. Just take everything away. Make it stop. Make the pain  _ stop.  _ He spares a thought for the Little Spider -  _ Natalia -  _ and hopes she doesn’t think he’s dead. He knows it would hurt her. 

They realise he’s awake quickly, and the chair is switched on.

He welcomes the ice. 

 

*


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn’t meant to happen. He is a civilian, completely unaffiliated with the conflict and yet somehow he is the one that ends up bleeding all over the asphalt. 

The Asset takes the gun that had just brought the man to the ground and turns it on his mission. The mark goes down, and the Asset watches with black-rimmed eyes as their blood mixes, pooling together. With the mission complete, it’s time for the Asset to go to the extraction point and wait for further instruction. Something holds him back, tugging at his chest.  

It’s not like this is the first casualty the Asset has caused. He’s killed civilians before, innocents that had no business being caught in the crossfire.  _ Collateral damage.  _ And yet something makes the Asset stand with blood staining the leather of his boots, looking over the stuttering rise-and-fall of the man’s chest. 

It wasn’t meant to happen. 

Somehow, the Asset reaches down, picks the man up and disappears. The Asset hasn’t felt anything but pain in over seventy years, and yet now he feels panic as the man's head lolls against his elbow. Something about the fluttering eyelids and sharp slits of blue piercing through the haze of unconsciousness makes the Asset walk faster, each step carefully calculated so as not to jolt the man in his arms. 

Blood is pooling in between the plates of his metal arm.  

“Wha-” questions that will get the man in trouble are unable to fall from his lips as words are replaced with groans of pain. The man’s breathing grows rapid and uneven, and the Asset grits his teeth together. Something about the colour completely draining from the man’s face has him unsteady and off-set, which has never happened before whilst in the field. 

The Asset moves like the shadows, and takes the man to the only place he can think of. 

~

The man lays on the mattress in the corner of the room and sleeps like the dead. He had fallen completely unconscious before the Asset had to dig the bullet out of his arm and patch him up. The Asset knows Hydra will be looking for him by now, but all he can think about is praying that the man will wake up. The Asset doesn’t know how to pray, but he is kneeling at the end of the mattress and begging for the man to live. 

Drowsy evening sun undulates through the crack in the drawn curtains, and the man continues to breathe. The Asset does not move from his post and simply watches the stillness of the man’s face. 

The Asset knows this man - but he does not. He knows no one but his handlers and even then he can only recognize their faces some of the time. His mind is scattered, too damaged for him to try pull up necessary memories that would answer all of his questions. 

The man is small and fits in the Asset’s arms like it is where he belongs. His eyes are bluer than the Pacific Ocean and his lungs rattle with each breath. His skin is thin and pale, but his hands are calloused and the knuckles on the right are bruised. His bones are showing too much, but the Asset knows he is strong, somehow. The man’s clothes are too large for him, but they are warm, so perhaps the man gets cold too easy. 

The Asset is nearly seventy years old and this man is younger than thirty. The Asset couldn’t possibly know him, but he  _ does.  _ He knows this man more than he knows anything else. He knows the man’s voice is deeper than it should be for his size, and his words clever and meaningful. The Asset’s mind is damaged and warped, but he knows that this man is worth more to him than anything else. 

It takes five more hours for the man to wake.

When he does, the Asset is on his feet in a second. The man’s eyelids twitch before sliding open, and a crease appears in between his eyebrows. The Asset can see the moment where the man’s pain catches up with him, because his entire face scrunches up in a twist of agony. The Asset moves forwards, and then fear sweeps over the man like a shadows, and it feels like a knife has twisted its way into the Asset’s gut. 

“Step back.”

The Asset obeys without thought, though part of him sings at the thrill of the deep voice. He knows this voice. Surprise flickers over the man’s face and the Asset can tell that the man had not expected him to do as he said. Unsurety hovers between them like smog. The man speaks again, slower and quieter. 

“You shot me.”

The Asset nods in response, and for the first time, remorse bleeds onto his face. 

“You saved my life.”

None of these are questions, but the Asset gets the man’s need for confirmation. 

“Why didn’t you take me to a hospital?” Accusation seeps into the man’s tone, and the Asset understands that the man is asking him why he’s taken him here, and if he’s allowed to leave.

The Asset shrugs, because thinking about the answers to those questions is some unfathomable thing. His tongue is thick, and he hasn’t spoken a word in over ten years. He’s unsure if he was programmed to become silent, or if he simply lost the ability to talk, or if he decided not to. He’s sure he hasn’t made a sound that isn’t a scream in a long, long time. 

Frustration appears in the lines of the man’s forehead, and the Asset wants to cringe back. Instead, and takes a step forwards and sinks to his knees, and speaks. “I know you,” he croaks.

Terrified confusion spreads over the man’s face. He must think that the Asset is utterly mad. But the man doesn’t understand - the Asset  _ knows  _ him. From before, which makes everything a whole hell of a lot more confusing, because the Asset shouldn’t even know that there  _ was  _ a before. All he should know is Hydra. 

And yet. 

“How could you possibly know me? Who  _ are  _ you?” 

The Asset cringes, pain spiking through his head. “The...I am the Asset.” He knows no other name. 

“The Asset,” the man repeats, to which the Asset nods. “I’m Steve.”

_ Steve.  _ And, oh. Of course he is. Steve. The Asset knows that name, knows the face it belongs to. But it’s impossible. They burned it out of him long ago, after they figured out the only thing keeping the Asset strong was Steve. The only thing keeping them from wiping everything out of him and rebuilding him into their weapon. The weapon he is now. 

Steve’s watching him. He seems calm, but the Asset knows he’s the complete opposite. Anyone would be, in this situation. 

“Why did you bring me here?” Steve asks. 

He’s treating the Asset like a wild dog, easy to spook and easy to provoke into attacking. The Asset figures that’s fair. He slides to his knees and frowns at the ground. “You would have died. They wouldn’t have let you live, even if you got to a hospital. You saw me. You should be dead.” His right hand is shaking. The left one remains still. “You weren’t supposed to be there.  _ You should be dead.”  _

A sharp intake of breath comes from Steve. “Then why aren’t I?” His voice is trembling. 

The Asset’s head twitches to the side in one quick rapid movement. This has happened before. The handlers say that when it happens it’s time for him to return to extraction point for maintenance. The Asset doesn’t want to - which is impossible, because the Asset shouldn’t want anything. 

“Because I don’t want you to be. You’re Steve.”

Steve’s dead, though. The Asset can remember - he can see images as though dirty glass, distorted and disjointed, but he remembers. They dragged Steve in, bruises covering every inch of his body, and killed him right in front of the Asset. He’d given up, then. Let them take his brain and warp it and turn him into their weapon.

He doesn’t know how he knows this all of a sudden. Steve’s looking at him like he’s crazy - maybe he is. His brain is that damaged, maybe he is imaging it. Perhaps this whole thing is a trick - a test. Maybe Hydra implanted those memories to see how he would react to seeing someone who meant that much to him. 

Steve is silent. The Asset lifts his head and looks him dead in the eye. 

“How are you alive?” he asks. 

Steve looks incredulous. “Look, man, I don’t know why you shot me or why you shot that guy - who was commissioning me, by the way, so thanks for losing me my paycheck - but I don’t know you. I don’t know how you know me. And I would really, really like to go now.” 

The air gets squeezed out of the Asset’s lungs. He knows Hydra will be looking for him. They will kill Steve the moment they get here. The Asset doesn’t want that to happen. “You are - yes. Go. Don’t let them find you.” It’s the only way for Steve to live. The Asset will tell them he killed the man, that he malfunctioned. They will believe him - Steve doesn’t matter to them, anyway, not a civilian, and why would the Asset have any reason to lie?

Steve is dead. 

But he is here, perhaps in another life? The Asset has begun to see black spots. “Where do you live?” he asks. 

“There is no way I’ll be telling you that.”

Of course. Come to think of it, this isn’t really what the Asset would expect from a civilian - this confidence. Steve hasn’t screamed once. He’s not freaking out - on the outside at least - and he’s demanding to be let go without an ounce of unsurety. The Asset knows this personality. It’s his Steve - it has to be. 

Everything hurts. 

The Asset rises to his feet and moves to where Steve is lying on the bed. Steve goes tense, eyes widening a fraction. “I will take you to the nearest train. You have to get far away from here, or they will kill you,” the Asset tells him.

Steve just nods, even though the Asset can see that he has no idea what he’s talking about. The Asset offers a hand to him, and Steve takes it. He’s cradling his injured arm, and he’s shaking, but he walks forwards with flint in his eyes. He doesn’t take his eyes off of the Asset, watching him in distrust. The Asset goes first, opening the door to the safehouse - which isn’t supposed to exist. 

They walk. It’s not far to the nearest town, and they get there in twenty minutes. They are safe from the prying eyes of the town’s people under the cover of darkness. They are not safe from Hydra, and the Asset knows this. He finds a train station quickly. Steve is starting to sway on his feet, holding his injured arm close to his body. His face is pale. 

The Asset is looking at train times when the shadows move. Seven men dressed in black from head to toe step out, and the Asset is surrounded. Steve is sitting down, his eyes closed. He doesn’t hear the strike team approach. 

The Asset feels true fear for the first time in a  _ long  _ time. 

“Found a toy, Asset?” the leader snarls. 

The Asset can’t breathe. Steve’s eyes snap open, and what colour left in his face drains away. The Asset steps in front of him, and stares the men down. “He is a civilian,” he protests, voice dead and flat. 

“Don’t try to worm your way out of this. Pierce is wondering why you haven’t returned. We had to be sent out to collect you. Didn’t you learn last time not to dawdle? Or did they scramble your brain too thoroughly this time?” 

The Asset wants to be sick. Instead, he draws his gun. Steve is breathing too hard behind him, and the Asset wants to tell him it’ll be okay, but he knows it’s not. The moment he kills the first member of the team, he and Steve are open fired on. The Asset is hit with enough bullets to take him down, and then he’s laying on the pavement, mouth open in a silent scream. He won’t die from the wounds. 

Staring at Steve’s slumped and lifeless body, though, he wishes he would. 

Perhaps this had been a second - second? This has happened before - chance, and the Asset fucked it up. He doesn’t know how or why Steve had been here, alive, but now the Asset had gotten him killed two - three...four? Five? - times. He’s already throwing up blood, but he still dry heaves when everything in his stomach is gone. He’s taken by the arms and dragged into a waiting van. 

Before they lock him into the chair and wipe him twice just to be sure, Bucky Barnes remembers that this has all happened before. 

 

*


	6. Chapter 6

**1.**

Hydra is gone - he gets the news three weeks after the failure of project insight. The people who have put him in this cell - they call themselves Shield, but Shield was Hydra - watch him closely when they tell him. He doesn’t react. He feels hollow, purposeless. He expected to feel something at the news, but there is nothing. He doesn’t care. He’s traded one handler for another. 

For another week, he is observed and watched. They don’t know what to make of him. He hasn’t said a word in an entire month. He hasn’t reacted to anything, done anything or been anything but compliant. He doesn’t know what they want from him. He’s so confused. He’s convinced he’s going to die here, purely out of boredom. He’s fed well, but there is nothing. They check up on him routinely twice a day, which is when they feed him, and sometimes they ask him questions he doesn’t have the answers to. He isn’t used for missions and he isn’t on ice. He has no idea what to do.

And then the Little Spider shows up. She holds herself the exact same way he remembers - maybe that’s  _ why  _ he remembers. He doesn’t know what happened to her after - he cuts that thought off.  _ Not Allowed.  _

He stands up and walks to the glass barrier that is a wall of his cell. She simply watches him as he stands there. Both of their faces are blank, but the Asset can read her. He taught her. She is confused, as he is, and frustrated. Is she their prisoner, too?

> _ Little Spider. _

He speaks first, voice croaky from disuse. The Russian feels almost odd on his tongue. Natalia cracks a smile. It looks odd on her - had he ever seen her smile? - but it warms his heart. She nodes towards the heavily armed door, and indicates that she’s coming in. He is immediately wary - surely this can’t be allowed? But she comes in anyway, walking all the way in and coming to stand in front of him.

He holds himself carefully, eyes narrowed down at her. Perhaps it’s a trick. Perhaps this isn’t his Little Spider. Perhaps - 

> _ Yasha, I can hear your mind going a mile a minute. Sit down. It’s been far too long. _

It’s his Little Spider.

He does as she says, becoming aware that she is in control of the situation. They’ve taken the metal arm, and although he’s had nothing to do except keep in shape, he’s pretty sure there’s some way they could take him down without touching him. To his surprise, Natalia sits down next to him. 

> _ Why haven’t you spoken to the interrogators? You’re in no danger here. You’ve already proven to be no danger to us. _

He’s confused. 

_ > Why am I being kept here? This isn’t proper protocol. I’m clearly not being used, so why am I awake? _

He avoids the Little Spider’s questions for ones that have been clogging up his head for weeks. Natalia’s eyes soften just a fraction, and she reaches out a hand to rest it on his forearm. It’s warm, and the Asset feels his rigid spine relax.

“Yasha, we’re trying to help you. Please talk to the next person that comes in. You’re no longer the Asset. You are your own person.” She dumps it on him like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

He’s left reeling, also confused about the switch to English. “Then what am I?”

“Who. You are Yasha, or you are another name. You are you. Or...you are Bucky Barnes,” she says carefully. 

Something in his mind shatters.  _ Not Allowed Not Allowed Not Allowed.  _ He shudders, squeezing his eyes shut at the onslaught of memories. He has been dreaming this past month, waking up screaming someone’s name. It’s now that he understands that the dreams were real. They had happened before. 

“Yasha, listen to me.” Natalia’s words break through the dissociation, and he’s left reeling. Her hands come up to rest on either side of his face, and she forced him to look at her. He concentrates on the golden flecks in the green of her eyes. “Yasha, what do you remember?” she asks.

He swallows dryly. “Everything,” he admits. 

She nods, and lets him close his eyes and disappear into his head. He stays still for a long time. Natalia leaves eventually, her presence slowly sliding out of the cell. He thinks he sleeps. 

<>

“It’s time. Let him go in.”

“Are you sure? You saw how he reacted with the Widow - “

“I’m sure. He’s not a danger. It’s cruel to keep them from each other especially since he remembers.”

“Alright. I’ll let him know. He can go in tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t know whether to be happy for them, or fearful for them.”

“I know, right? This reincarnation thing does my head in.”

“It’s gonna be a long road.”

“How many times has this guy been reincarnated for him? Five times, now? They’ll make it.”

“One for the books, eh?”

“It sure is an anomaly.”

<>

The next morning, the Asset - Bucky? Yasha? - wakes up slowly, head pounding. His headache fades a little after he’s had some water and some breakfast. The events from yesterday are so surreal he’s not sure they really happened. Sometime around nine that morning, he’s asked to step out of the cell. 

The door opens, and the guards are armed, but no one moves to touch him. He steps out warily, wondering if they’ve finally decided to put him under or put him down. He keeps his eyes on the ground, neck bent, and lets himself be marched down the hall. They take some stairs, going up and up and up, and then he’s left alone in a room he hasn’t seen before. 

He looks around, and when he finds no one else, he checks the whole place over. He could break out, easily, but instead he takes a seat on the couch and grabs a book from the bookshelf. He’s confused, yes, but he hasn’t done something as mundane as this in a long,  _ long  _ time. Besides, he’s sure they’d take him down the moment he started fiddling with the window. 

He doesn’t bother wondering why they’re doing this.

He’s trying to focus on the book, up to the second chapter, when the door opens again. He sees the guards outside, takes note of their weapons and where they are before his eyes slide to the person who has entered the room.

He drops the book. 

“ _ Stevie,”  _ he croaks.

Steve’s eyes crinkle as he grins. There is sorrow there, but joyous hope, too. “Hey, Buck. Is it alright if I call you that?”

Bucky leaps up from the couch and bounds over to him only to hesitate in front of the man who  _ has always come back for him.  _ “How much do you remember?” he asks softly fear lacing each word. 

Steve frowns a little, the blue of his eyes swimming with compassion. “Everything. But it’s okay. I don’t blame you. I just - I just want to have this time. Let this be the last time.”

“Steve,” Bucky starts, but then there’s arms wrapping around his middle. 

“I’m so sorry for everything, Bucky, god, you have no  _ idea,”  _ is sobbed into his chest. 

“I think I do,” Bucky murmurs, swallowing past the lump in his throat. 

They stand there like that in the middle of the room for a while. Eventually, they move to the couch and talk, and talk, and talk. 

Some part of Bucky still expects Steve to be taken from him at any moment. 

The moment never comes. This time, they get it right. 

_**Fin.** _   


 

*

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at [buckyskillingme.](http://buckyskillingme.tumblr.com)


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